To former me,
From starry eyed idealist
To hardened cynic -
I corrupted you.
I turned you into what I am
And I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I couldn’t meet your expectations;
Somehow it hurts the worst
To let you down.
To former me,
The plan you made was perfect
Until I took it
And turned it to ****
I’m sorry I failed you.
You had such big dreams-
But failure is much more terrifying now.
I’m sorry things changed,
And I wish I could tell you
That I’m happy.
To former me,
I’m sorry I left you behind.
The me that is writing this
Is new and foreign to you.
Sometimes I think you’d be glad,
You’d love my confidence, my creativity,
My theories, and my style,
But at this very moment,
At this.
Exact.
Moment.
I think you’d hate me
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 8:51 PM UTC
There are so many letters I never sent,
Stuffed in their decaying envelopes,
Words etched onto the paper
Like drops of blood
Thinned by tears.
There are so many things I never said,
Words that dried up on my tongue
Like a flower shriveling,
Crumbling away
Til nothing’s left.
There are so many thoughts I never shared,
Each one circling round my head,
Begging to be the first domino
In a cause and effect
That’d change my life.
There are so many things I never did,
Actions aborted by my cowardice,
Little things I wanted so bad-
Your head on my shoulder,
Your hand in mine.
There are so many letters I never sent,
That leave me wondering, wishing,
But in the end, it’s safer this way-
Wondering, wishing,
But not knowing.
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC
When I look up at the stars, I see you.
And it hurts.
They seem so far away,
Thousands of light years,
Millions of miles.
Untouchable.
They shine so bright,
Perfect and golden,
Burning and eternal.
Beautiful.
But only from a distance-
How are they up close?
Fading and falling?
Imperfect?
I can’t tell what I love;
Whether I love them
Or their glow from afar.
Removed.
When I look up at the stars, I see you.
And it hurts.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 9:36 PM UTC
“I can fix that”
Glares out from the glowing screen
As if your lack of a relationship is a problem.
*It’s because of people like you
That I’d rather be alone.*
“I can fix that”
As if you’re an object
Broken and in need of repair.
*There’s nothing wrong with me;
I’ll repeat it ’till it’s true.*
“I can fix that”
And you start to think,
Maybe they’re right?
*Maybe there is something wrong,
Maybe I should give it a try.*
“I can fix that”
Drills and bores into your brain,
How nice being normal would be.
*But I can’t be fixed; not by you,
Not by anyone.*
“I can fix that.”
That leering smile etched into your mind,
As you shy away from the touch.
*Can’t you understand me?
I. Don’t. Want. Y.ou.*
“I can fix that.”
You want to scream; you’re not project,
Not an object, not broken.
*Or at least I wasn’t broken,
Until I met you.*
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 9:17 PM UTC
I used to think love was a weakness.
It was a devastating curse
Which infected everyone I knew,
And turned them pining, sad,
Vulnerable.
And then I thought it was fate.
It was an inevitable trial,
That some could survive,
Some could fight,
But few would win.
For a time, love was strength.
It was the source of energy,
The breeze in the heat,
Or the charm of the night,
Something beautiful.
But then, love turned bitter.
It was laced with hatred,
Pierced by jealousy
And cries of the heart,
Poisoned tears.
But now I see that love is torture.
It’s the weakness that saps strength,
The fate that you can’t escape,
The bitter pain tainting the words,
“I love you.”
And the worst part is, despite it all,
That I do.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 9:51 AM UTC
I wish I never met you.
If only it were so simple;
To wish away the tears I cried,
The pain that came
From missing you.
I wish I never met you.
It doomed from the start;
The reasons piled on and on,
But the final straw still
Cut like wire.
I wish I never met you.
You forced open my eyes;
Made me see that I’m broken
And soon everything else
Will follow suit.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC
Please don’t say you love me
Because if you do
That would change
E v e r y t h i n g
Please don’t stay you love me
Because if you do
You wouldn’t have
A n y t h i n g
Please don’t say you love me
Because if you do
You would lose
E v e r y t h i n g
Please don’t say you love me
Because if you do
I wouldn’t say
A n y t h i n g
Please don’t say you love me
Because even if you do
I don’t love
Y o u.
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 10:01 AM UTC
Treat her like she’s a play.
Look at her like you’re trying to memorize every subtlety,
Every hint of beauty,
Every graceful rise and fall of her movement.
Hear her like she’s a verse.
Listen to her closely, understanding every word,
Every hidden meaning,
Every cleaver twist of unspoken metaphor.
Speak to her like she’s a muse,
Choose every word like poetry flowing from your lips,
Every phrase of praise,
Every gentle pause a silent cry for more.
Read her like she’s thriller.
Turn the pages with mounting anticipation,
Every surprise a thrill,
Every careful twist a step towards unravelling a mystery.
Love her like she’s a novel,
Like she’s an entire world in your hands,
Every page a masterpiece,
Every chapter an adventure too precious to shelve.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 10:41 AM UTC
If only
I had met you
some other place,
some other time.
If only
I had told you
what I felt
deep inside.
If only
I could stay with you
for one more day,
one more night.
If only
If only
things were different
I’d be alright.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
People have asked me how I feel. It’s not simple sadness - it’s far less real- but more a resigned sense of loss. I guess… I guess I’d say it’s like when your shoelaces come untied and you look down at them, you see the laces laying listlessly on the ground, but you don’t reach down, you don’t twist them back into a knot and rescue them from the dirt. It’s not that you don’t want to, it’s simply that something is lacking - the energy, the motivation, the care. And so you keep walking, and with every step you take, you see those laces snake around your feet. They tangle with each other, trampled by your shoes, but you don’t care. You don’t have the energy to lose. Instead, you let them drag in the dirt, in the wet, in the dust. You let them because you just don’t care. After all, it’s not as if your shoes have fallen off; the laces are still doing their job, just not as efficiently. They’ve been compromised; they’re acting differently. And that’s fine. But the worst is when people look at you, look down and say to you, “Oh, your shoe laces are untied,” realizing it anew. As if you’re not aware with every step you take that those tiny plastic nibs at the ends of a fraying string are slapping against the floor, raking across the ground. As if you can’t feel the looseness in your shoes, the vulnerability, and the sense that they no longer feel quite as snug and might fall off at the slightest tug. As if you can’t look down and see them dragging, twisting like snakes trailing in your wake. Yes, you know your shoe laces are untied. It doesn’t matter what you’ve told yourself, it doesn’t matter if you’ve lied. You know. You know, but you’re not going to do anything about it because why? Why bother? You’ll have to untie them eventually; you saw it coming, that inevitability. Everything must break. Everything must come apart, every shoelace, every person, every work of art. Nothing can stay together in the long run. We might as well let it come undone.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 8:39 PM UTC